110 
THE POETRY OF FLOWEBS. 
Yet is not life, in its real flight, 
Mark’d thus—even thus—on earth, 
By the closing of one hope’s delight, 
And another’s gentle birth ? 
Oh ! let us live so that flower by flower, 
Shutting in turn, may leave 
A lingerer still for the sunset hour, 
A cnarm for the shaded eve. 
SPRING FLOWERS. 
BY SHAKSPEARE. 
Daffodils 
That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim, 
But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes, 
Or Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses, 
That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
Bright Phoebus in his strength; 
Bold oxlips, and 
The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, 
The flower-de-luce being one. 
